The Journal of Mr Sherlock Holmes
by PaiPerMeent
Summary: December 22nd, 2011. Several days ago a weapons manufacturer announced that a microchip had been stolen...
1. Nov9th: Regarding Nicotine and Cocaine

**A/N: **Well, this is my first fic on this account. I had another one, but I forgot the email adress I'd used. Well, no harm no foul, right? Right. I plan for this to be at least a weekly thing. Hopefully there will be more updates. This first entry doesn't have any romance in it... But as I'm a huge John/Sherlock fan, I'm sure there will be in later entries. Anyhow, enjoy!

**Series**: Sherlock (TV)  
><strong>Words<strong>: 855  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I really must thank Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Naturally, my worship is given to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I couldn't even begin to think of these mysteries, therefore, the characters are not mine!

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><p>November 9th, 2011.<p>

_I don't think it's necessary to write that John was surprised when he saw my arms today. Still, I will write down my observations. More than surprised, he was furious. The only other time he'd seen my arm was when I showed him the Nicotine patches I'd been wearing. He hadn't looked very closely that time. This time, he did. For the purpose of my own future observations, I will record the conversation in its entirety, from the begining._

I was sprawled out on the couch, playing my violin with no particular piece in mind. My eyes were closed, but my mind was open. I had seven nicotine patches on. The most recent one had started to itch, so I set my violin down and scratched it through my sleeve.

"You're not supposed to scratch mosquito bites." John said, quite idiotically.

"I haven't got a mosquito bite." I said a little irritably. I continued to scratch at the patch, knowing it wouldn't actually help.

"Oh, well," he coughed a little. "Still," he was obviously uncomfortable for a reason I couldn't begin to fathom.

I scratched for a moment longer before deciding to take off the patch and put it on my other arm. I pushed up my sleeve and grabbed the patch.

"Is that..." John took a moment to count the nicotine patches. "Five nicotine patches?"

I snickered a little bit. "Only on this arm, John." I tried to pick off the irritating patch, but it was increasingly difficult to get my nail under the bandage. I groaned a little bit and offered my arm to John.

"What?" He asked, apparently unable to comprehend my gesture. "You want me to-?" He pointed to himself.

"Take off this damn patch?" I asked, a little annoyed. "Yes, John." He stood up and walked the few steps it took. He looked at me with a sense of mischief in his eye. "What?" I asked.

He tried to hide a grin. "Nothing." Bollocks. He took the bit of bandage I had lifted between his thumb and forefinger and pulled. Quickly.

"Ahhh!" I clamped my hand around the crook of my elbow, where the patch had been as if that would stop the pain. Stupid. I looked up and John was no longer trying to hide his grin. I let out a breath and removed my clamped hand from my elbow, then raised my hand up to John. "The patch, if you don't mind."

"Sherlock..." He looked intently at my arm. "Is that...?" He looked unhappy. "Are those...?" He coughed twice. "Track marks?" He ran his hand under his nose, scratching the area.

"Yes. But you already knew I was a...'junkie'."

"But that's... that's insane! Jesus! I don't think I've ever seen any arm that looked that bad." I could feel myself getting frustrated.

"My mind, unlike yours, rebels at stagnation. If I have to inject a harmless substa-"

"Harmless? Anything injected has the potential to be deadly!"

"What about the flu shots?"

"People have died of vaccinations, yes. But they get a vaccine so they don't get sick!"

"Doesn't that somehow make it worse? They count on doctors like you to take care of them. Yet they die. To keep myself fit I used to- Used to, John!- inject cocaine. Are you aware cocaine used to be-"

"A medical breakthrough? The cure for all that was wrong? Yes! But that was in 18-"

"Actually, it was first noted about in 1569."

"Yes, and the people of the 16th century knew all there is to know about-"

"It doesn't matter, John! I was once a junkie. I stick to nicotine patches for when I need intellectual stimulation."

"So you've traded one addiction for another."

"And you've traded a mediocre life with a mediocre psychologist for a life of adventure with your homosexual flat mate." I paused, and noted a look of hurt on his face. Too late to do anything else, even if I'd wanted to, I went for gold. "Have you figured out your own sexual orientation, John? We all make trade-offs. I trade my health for my mind. What the hell do I need to live 100 years for?" I grabbed the patch out of his hands and threw it in the trash. "I really don't need to take this from you."

"Sherlock, wait." He reached out and grabbed my wrist, flipping it over in the process. I could see in his mind he wanted to know about the burns and the discolorations there. He wouldn't risk upsetting me more over it at that moment, so he dropped my hand. I hated him a little then. You should do whatever you need in pursuit of knowlege.

"I'm going out." I grabbed my scarf and slammed the door behind me. When I got home about nine hours later, I found myself alone in the flat. There was a note on my computer from John.

_"Sherlock,  
>I found your stash in your slipper. I've disposed of it accordingly.<br>-John"_

I don't believe I've ever wanted to punch anyone more than I wanted to punch him in that moment.


	2. Nov10th: Three Texts and one Violin

November 10th, 2011.

I have my blog and various Journal-like magazines for my more scientific analyses, and so I have decided to commit this journal entirely to the "happenings" of my days. Naturally I can't promise to write every day as some cases are rather pressing, but I will do my best. Now, as to the events of today.

I woke up in a rather black mood, and decided it was most likely from yesterdays quarrel with John. I'd thought the boxing I'd done would get rid of the frustration, but coming home to find half your -rather expensive- drugs gone along with your flatmate does not make for a good mood. I could only hope Lestrade would be out of his league and come to consult me. Even that didn't promise a distraction from the mundane. I tossed my covers back and reached for my bed-post, where I knew my robe was waiting for me. I did my usual wash, shave and brush routine before going to the kitchen for something to eat.

A quick glance at my phone showed three new text messages and that it was half past eight. I scrolled through my messages, noticed one from Lestrade, one from a moron with the wrong number, and one I had sent myself on accident. Nothing from John, yet. I opened the one from Lestrade which asked if he could come by after ten. I quickly texted back that yes, he could. The wrong number asked if I would like to stop by once their wife left. I responded that I'd rather not, but if he'd like me to I'm sure I could oblige. I chuckled a little as I sent it. The message from myself was just a jumble of letters, so I deleted it.

Walking over to the cupboard, I noticed it was quite empty. I thought then that it didn't bother me nearly as much as it seemed to bother John. I went to the fridge and found a not to disturbing box of leftover chinese and decided that was as good a breakfast as any. I rolled my eyes as I thought of what John would say. At least I was eating, right?

John this, John that. I decided to take him out of my mind for the moment and read the paper, trying to find out what was bringing Lestrade over.

I swear it wasn't more than a few moments (yet my lying phone told me it was already half past ten!) since I'd started reading that I heard the front door open. John? The knocking on the door told me it was Lestrade. I allowed him in to the front room and heard him out. He handed me a small bag with some tobacco ashes and I quickly told him they were rather organic and most likely from a hand-rolled cigarrette. He smiled a little, obviously he'd thought as much himself, asked for a written statemenet as to how I knew that, and was soon on his way. I've already published my findings on separate types of tobacco, so I won't go in to it here.

With nothing else to do, I took my violin case from the floor, set the violin on my lap, and plucked the strings. As time went on the sounds changed from an odd frustration to a more calm tone. The violin has always been the most soothing thing to me. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. They were light, yet taking the steps slowly. Very slowly, as though the walker was anxious. Was it John this time? I concluded that it was and looked at my phone. Four o'clock. I looked at my hands and saw the impress of the strings on my fingers. I couldn't call my phone a liar this time.

He opened the front door and I held a smile -a smile!- at bay. I looked him up and down, seeing he'd been drinking last night, slept on a rather uncomfortable surface -a couch?- and had been walking around for quite some time. "How is what's her face doing?" I asked.

He looked down, and then back at me. "Sarah? She's doing just fine." He let it go and took a seat in his armchair. A silence stretched between us for several minutes, before he began again. "I don't regret it." He told me, speaking about removing my drugs from the flat. "Whether you're using right now or not is my business-"

"How so?" I interrupted, but he completely ignored me.

"As you still pay half the rent and I need to know it's not going towards drugs," he stopped talking, assuming that was the end of that. I scoffed a little before talking.

"Like I said, I'm clean," I was about to put my violin back in her case before a thought occured to me. I held up the violin a little bit to get John's attention. "Do you have any requests?"

It looked for a moment like he was going to ask. Instead I could see he was thinking about yesterday. He got up from his chair and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.

I saw him for a brief moment when he went out for dinner, but it wasn't long before he was back in the flat, and up in his room. If I'd realized how much he would sulk, I would've kept my mouth shut.

Around 9 p.m. I recieved a text from the wrong number telling me to go ahead and come over, he was sure I would feel better once I had a drink or two. I amused myself for the rest of the night by texting the random man, then ended it by telling him I wasn't the sexy blonde in red underwear I'd said I was. I was, in fact, a rather tall man with black hair and black briefs on. The texts ceased after that.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thank you to those of you who reviewed! :D I was trying to decide whether I should update today, or let their fight stew another day before anything happened. Obviously, I decided to update today. Don't worry, their fight will be over tomorrow, or, maybe Monday. I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload anything tomorrow. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	3. Nov14th: Use of Humour and Nail Shavings

**A/N: **At first "Mrs Hudson" kept on getting removed. I guess it's because I'd written it with a period and no space between "Mrs" and "Hudson". Anyway, that's not important. What's important is that the boys are going to be behaving better from now on. Well, until their next fight. But who knows when that'll be? Hopefully not too soon. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>November 14th, 2011.<em>

_Due to a case which came upon me last Friday, I was not able to update my findings on humour and it's practical uses._

The general feel of the apartment was still heavy on Friday, although John had said what he needed to on Thursday.

I was sitting in my armchair, when I saw John walk down and settle in to his seat. As he hadn't prepared for the day yet, I could tell last night was not a particularly friendly one to him.

If I was writing simply about my observations, I would omit the concern I felt for him then. Despite popular belief, some emotion does dwell somewhere in me. Since this journal is not meant for other's eyes, I will try my best to stay honest to the situation, including the _feelings_ associated with it.

He immediately went for the paper that was on the back of his chair, which was, in fact, well over two weeks old. Still, he read it. I cleared my throat some, so he'd know I was about to speak. I was a little offended when he opened the paper fully to hide his face and block me out. I kept the comment to myself.

Then I noticed my nails. Dear God! They needed a trim. I'd been meaning to cut them for the past week or so, but finding those damn clippers was more of a chore than I had been up to. I looked around the floor of John's chair, assuming he'd been the last to use them from the state of his nails (which were, besides his legs and feet, all I could really see of him). Seeing John's foot lying at an odd angle, I quickly realized he must be unknowingly stepping on them. So I lifted his foot.

"Wh-? Sherlock, what-?" He lifted his foot the rest of the way and I was able to get the clippers.

"Mind if I use these?" I asked, giving him a quick grin. He didn't look amused. Rather annoyed, actually.

"You could've said something, like, I dunno, 'please move your foot'," I don't pretend to understand why he was being so touchy, but I was a little surprised when he didn't kick my face when he so clearly had the opportunity.

I settled back in to my chair and began to work on trimming. Right away I noticed the way he tensed each time a nail was cut.

Clip, _flinch_. Clip, _flinch_.

I was tempted to stop, but I felt the need to get back at him for ignoring me earlier when I was only trying to point out the date of the paper.

He then noticed on his own how old the paper was, presumably because he'd already read that set of comics. He went in search of a newer edition, and when he found it he went right back to ignoring me. He brought the paper comically close to his face, held up his chin way too high, and cast his gaze down to the paper. I found myself rolling my eyes, then trimming my nails again. He was being terribly immature.

A thought seized me then. I could be immature, if he wanted to play that game. I angled my thumb and the clippers to exactly the right angle so the clipping would land on his sleeve.

_Clip_.

It landed exactly where I wanted it to. Sherlock Holmes Nail Shaving's: 1, John Watson's Sleeve: 0.

He was turning the page of his paper when he saw the shaving out of the corner of his eye. He set the paper on his lap and gave me an "Oh-you're-so-mature," look, but less angry and more "I'm-trying-not-to-smile". Despite his best efforts, a small smile was _rather_ obvious at the corner of his lips. I found myself feeling happy that his mood was improving.

He brushed the shaving off and was about to say something when someone knocked on the door.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson shouted as I walked the few steps it took to get to the door.

"Yes?" Then the idea to make John laugh came upon me. This was too perfect an opportunity to miss. I turned my face towards John and made the age-old "hush" motion of an index finger to the lips, feeling my smile beneathe the digit.

"Open up, please." I could understand her perfectly, but that didn't keep me from saying, rather loudly;

"I'm sorry, I can't quite hear you. The door is closed." I kept my gaze on John and could see, from the rapidly growing smile, that he thought the situation was humourous as well.

"Open! Up! Please!" She shouted, with knocks on the door acting as further punctuation between each word. John had a hand over his mouth to silence himself, but it wasn't working as well as he might have been hoping.

"Really, Mrs Hudson, the door is so thick. Do you think you could be a bit louder?" She mubbled something unintelligible and I took that moment to clear my throat, and John followed suit. I opened the door wide to her, "Why didn't you just say so?" John was as straight-faced as he could be, but Mrs Hudson took in his smile and realized she'd been the center of the joke.

"You have a visitor who doesn't wish to come up," she told me. "Probably best you go down and see him."

"Precisely. Thank you, Mrs Hudson," I was able to successfully usher her from the flat before turning back to John. "Well? The chase may very well be on. Would you care to join me?"

The man who had been waiting for us told us of his problem and, seeing the dangerous nature of it, John and I embarked immediately to set it right. I am happy to say the case was a success, and John is still glowing from the thrill of it.

Unfortunately for me, nothing new has happened as of yet.


	4. Nov15th: Enjoying Maury and Soy Sauce

**A/N: **There's something about this chapter I really like. I can't put my finger on it, but it was fun to write. The soap thing? Totally made up. Anyhow, enjoy!

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><p><em>November 15th, 2011.<em>

_Today I woke up on the sofa. I was sure I'd gone to my bed the night before, but apparently, judging by the faint sour milk taste in my mouth, I'd woken up for a drink. Looking around me I saw there was, indeed, a half finished glass of milk, and a partially eaten slice of bread with some butter on it._

I remembered then what had happened. I woke up around 3 feeling oddly energetic. The feeling made me believe it was already the afternoon and that John would be up to scold me for sleeping in so late and for not eating.

Walking to the kitchen, I marveled at how gloomy it must be outside for it to be so dark inside. And, indeed, it was quite bleak outside. What I could neither see nor hear was John. Noticing the state of the kitchen, (excluding my experiments) I noticed it was barren. I concluded John had gone out in the bad weather to pick up some essentials. Cheese, lunch meat, soy sauce.

I should have noticed at that moment how tired I was. Had I been fully aware I would have remembered that John's shoulder injury keeps his from the rain and other various weathers.

However, I continued on. I poured the last of the milk in to a mug and prepared my slice of bread, then settled down in my chair to watch some crap telly. I was in luck, Maury was on Sky Living. But wasn't something else usually on at 3 p.m.? I was asleep before I was able to come up with the answer.

I woke up and Criminal Minds was half-way over, and I was confused. Recalling what had happened, I finished my mug of milk and slice of bread. I then set myself to the task of finding out whether John was here or not.

I walked up the stairs and pushed his door open slowly. When I saw he wasn't in his room, my natural curiosity showed itself. Naturally I knew the basic layout of the room from John's appearance, but now I could go snooping.

I started by going to his night stand. On top of the drawer was a box of tissues, miscellaneous papers and some coins. I opened the drawer and saw some lotion, a few naughty magazines, and more various papers. Most of which I found to be bills, mainly past due notices. I closed his drawer quietly and took a peek underneath his full-size bed. I found several storage chests with old military effects. Plenty of uniforms, even his standard issue helmet. There were also several large, yellow, envelopes which upon further inspection proved to be orders. Careless, John. Careless.

I placed all of his things back where they had been and went in to his connected bathroom. Obviously I knew that he'd received the shower stall in his while I received the tub, but that didn't tell me much. I found his sink to be in a horrible state. There were shavings all inside the bowl and around the rim of the sink. Several splatters of shaving cream hadn't been cleaned. I was half expecting to not see any hand soap. I was relieved when I saw the still sudsy bar.

Still sudsy. Judging by how wet the bar still was, the amount of bubbles that lingered and several other factors I realized John couldn't have been gone from here long. He'd probably left about- I rubbed the bar to see how many bubbles I could produce- seven minutes ago. I'd been in the other room about five, so he really hadn't been gone long at all when I started my information gathering. I heard a drip of water come from the shower stall which further proved my conclusion. The air in the bathroom was not humid, so I deduced he'd needed a cold shower after either a very good dream, or a rather bad one.

My curiosity satisfied, I left John's bathroom and his room, closing the door behind me. Ten minutes later John was walking through the front door with a bag of groceries in his hand.

"Did you get the soy sauce?" I asked. I knew he'd forgotten from the lack of any clink noise in the bag, but I figured I'd remind him.

He opened the bag and looked inside. Realizing he had forgotten it he groaned a little. "No, apparently not."

"I highly dislike the restaurants soy sauce. It's not nearly salty enough," I took my phone out of my dressing robe and looked at the time. Nearly four.

John gave me one of his "I-don't-give-a-shit" looks and proceeded to tell me that, essentially. "Get your own damn soy sauce." He took the bag in to the kitchen and I watched him unpack it.

Cheese, lunch meat, sugar (Ah! I'd forgotten that!), tea, and another gallon of milk. "I noticed you drank the expired milk." John told me with an amused look on his face.

"Really? I hadn't." My body was already used to several types of poisons. Indigestion was something I virtually never got. "Was it really expired?"

"Yes, it was. It had been expired for two months."

"That would explain the lumps and off-taste." He chuckled to himself (my ears are highly sensitive) and the sound made me smile a little bit, although you'd have to really know me (not possible) to have noticed it.

"Are you smiling?" John asked rather unexpectedly. I turned my gaze back to him and gave him a look that said "please-tell-me-you're-joking."

"Honestly, John. You know I only smile when I'm searching for a criminal," not entirely true, apparently.

"No, you smile when you think other people are being idiots, too- Ah! That! Right there." I had been thinking he was being a rather large idiot at that moment.

"What? Right where?" I asked, deciding to not let him have any satisfaction. I schooled my face so my lips were at my normal frown.

"Ah! The wild smile goes in to hiding for the winter."

"It's autumn, my smile would have to be collecting food for stores when it woke up in the spring."

"Naturally. Good thing all the salt in soy sauce makes for a good preservative, huh?" I rolled my eyes to keep from smiling again.

"Yes, good thing indeed. I'm not sure my nuts, bolts, and oil could make it through without the help of soy sauce." John finished putting the groceries away and sat next to me on the couch. When he saw the look I gave him he shot me an equally confused look.

"What? Watching the telly from any other seat is virtually impossible."


	5. Nov16th: Shopping and Geheimnisse

**A/N:** I've had an idea of them shopping together for a while. I knew it had to come out eventually. And Voila~! Hope you enjoy! Reviews are love!

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><p><em>November 16th, 2011<em>.

I was rather careless with an experiment this morning. As I was scooping the discolored eye out of my dismembered head with my Exenteration spoon, I noticed that my hand was bleeding a little. Looking more closely at the wound, I realized it had been from when I was trying to open the package of shredded cheese earlier with a steak knife. I must have overlooked it due to my excitement over the experiment I almost ruined.

I set the spoon down on the shelf of the cooler and, I don't know where my mind was, wiped my hand on my pants. I groaned a little bit before wetting a towel to try and get the stain out. I set to work on trying to remove the stain but realized it was too late for the pants. I looked around the kitchen for my phone but only saw John's. It would work.

'/Does the offer still stand? -SH'

I took his phone and headed to my room to change in to a different pair of pants. The ones I chose were just as tight fitting, but they had pin stripes. I preferred to wear those when I wanted to look more professional. Impressions can mean a lot when you're trying to gather information.

After I tossed the pants in to the hamper I heard a ridiculous chirpy noise. John's phone sat on my night table, I realized that was his ring tone.

'/For Sherlock Holmes, of course. -MA'

I closed out of the text and set the phone to vibrate, then put it in my back pocket along with my wallet. If John didn't want me to borrow his phone, he wouldn't leave it lying around. Looking out my bedroom window I saw it was gloomy outside. Oh, well. Not much I could do. I checked the weather on John's phone and saw it was around 40 degrees. I grabbed my jacket and scarf, wrapped the scarf around my neck, and headed to the door.

"Sherlock, have you seen my phone?" John asked. He was on his knees in front of the sofa, with the cushions spread around him. "I thought I left it in the kitchen..."

"You did. It's in my pocket, now." He let out a little grunt and set to putting the cushions back. Then he noticed I was dressed and about to head somewhere.

"Where are you headed?" He asked. "A case?"

I sighed a little. A case would be great right now. "No, there's no case. I need a new pair of jeans." He looked at me like he thought I was being sarcastic. I rolled my eyes a little. "I got blood on another pair."

"Are you alright?" Was his immediate response. "Was it yours?" I had ruined more than one article of clothing by allowing someone else's blood to come in to contact with it.

"Yes. I cut myself a little bit earlier. The jeans were a lighter shade, so the blood is fairly obvious." I felt a vibration in my back pocket. "Oh, it's Harry." I opened the text just as John snatched the phone from my hands. "Would you like to come along? You could use a new pair of jeans." Noticing the state of his current pair, I added, "Or three."

his face seemed to fill with relief at the text. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He tapped out a quick answer and went for his jumper.

"It's a bit chilly. You might want a jacket too." He grabbed his jacket and slipped his arms through the sleeves.

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><p>"Do you usually shop in the women's section?" John asked as I looked at a pair made of dark denim. I wasn't quite ready to go searching for another light pair. It would be the wrong season to find them even if I had wanted to.<p>

"No. But their denim tends to fit me much better." I found a simple pair and placed them over my arm. Noticing his discomfort, I said: "You can go over to the men's side. I'll be over there for some new shirts shortly." He left willingly.

Once I'd found three pairs that were to my liking and size I went to find John. Instead of looking at jeans he was sitting on a bench by the changing room. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Just a little sticker-shocked," he told me.

"Choose some jeans, John." I told him. He looked at me like I was stepping over some unseen line. "You aren't nearly reliable enough in those raggedy other pairs you own. I'm going to go look at those shirts," I pointed to the other side of the changing rooms. "Over there. You're going to choose some jeans," I gestured to the area right in front of him, "from here. Meet me at the register in ten minutes." With that I walked over to the shirts I'd indicated earlier.

When ten minutes had passed I walked to the back of the store where the registers were. I saw John had two pairs of jeans and was standing there uncomfortably. He'd probably chosen the cheapest pairs he could find. In this store that could still be more than his pension check.

"Sherlock, I'm not com-" I took the jeans from his arms and put them with my own three pairs of jeans and two shirts. "I'm definitely not going to let you buy my jeans."

"Shh-sh-sh. Don't worry about it," I set the clothes on the counter and the teller's face immediately lit up.

"Sherlock! Oh, it's so great to see you!" Her eyes turned to look at John. "Oh, is this your boyfriend?" She held out a hand to John. "I'm Maria Angleson. Good to meet you."

"Uh, no. Just a friend." He shook her hand anyway. Maria gave me a look which said she didn't believe him.

"Er will es geheim halten." Her discount didn't extend to friends, only family and romantic interests. It's at times like this I'm happy John only seems to know English. He'd probably storm out of the store if he knew what I'd said.

She rung up the clothes and removed all the security devices. When John saw the total, I'm pretty sure his mouth went dry. It was probably less than he'd spent on one horse, but he'd only spend that much if he'd been particularly lucky on the last race.

"Now I'll just add the discount..." She typed a few things and the total changed to zero. John's face showed bewilderment. "This guy found my dead mum's pearls when the police were convinced they'd been stolen." She fingered the pearl necklace around her throat. "Now I'll be able to pass it on to my daughter. I will gladly fill up Sherlock Holmes wardrobe with whatever he wants." Then she realized something. She stepped out from behind the counter and I noticed it immediately. "We're wearing the same pants!"

"Yes, thank you Maria." I picked up the bag after she was done bagging and gave her a good bye wave. "Have a nice day." She echoed the sentiment with an energetic wave.

When we were back on the street John asked me what I'd said.

"I said 'This man is a veteran'," Utterly false. But John took it to heart and said wonderful things about her. He supposed the free clothes we'd gotten were because he was a veteran and she was a large supporter. I didn't point out how erroneous this was, because then I'd have to tell him what I'd actually said


	6. Dec13th: Parents and Mysteries

**A/N: **What's this? An update? A... mini update. I have a case in mind for later in the month, which may be a bit familiar to those who read the short stories. c: I'll probably write a few more entries before that, so you can guess away at which one I'm going to use! It's... it's a bit obvious. The short story is also during christmas time. So there's your first clue! Anyway, enjoy! Review!

**Word Count:** 713

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><p>December 13th, 2011.<p>

_I'm not going to apologize for not writing here sooner. You're a journal, inanimate, therefore apologies are useless. After browsing one of John's old journals, it has occurred to me I might be doing this wrong. _

_All of his entries only touched on the events of the day, focusing mainly on how they made him **feel**. There were several entries I found intriguing, and one I found to be completely inappropriate. Although that one in itself was interesting. So, instead of merely rattling off the most recent occurrences, I will try to talk about how each thing made me feel._

For two weeks I was away in Windmere on a case involving a lost son. Well, actually, he'd ran away, but that is neither here nor there, as I have already recorded the specifics. Although I offered to take John along for the case, he refused, saying he couldn't just up and leave work. I was a little disappointed.

Still, when I returned last Friday, he was waiting for me at the train station with a cab for my luggage. I guess the right word for what I was feeling at that time would be... pride. Yes, I was proud of John for having thought ahead. Of course, he hadn't taken the time to account for a delayed train so the fee we wound up with was outrageous. Still, life for most people is about baby steps. And John is making them.

Enough about the past, now we can concentrate on what's been happening recently. When John saw all the shops started decorating for Christmas, he wore this terrible scowl on his face. I was actually a little surprised until I thought about it. He hasn't got any family to spend the Holidays with, so of course he'd be upset come this time of year. Still, I think he was counting on me being a Scrooge about it as well.

That, he learned, is not the case. The Winter season is one of the most lively times in the criminal world. Plenty of homicides, an amazing amount of break-ins, and other various crimes are in abundance. Of course, most of them can be traced back to alcohol, but there is still plenty of work. It's also a time when family members try to reach out to each other. Last year I assisted in no fewer than sixteen missing persons cases.

John asked me if I had any plans for Christmas, maybe I would go see Mycroft, or be away on a case. I replied that while Christmas-time itself was a very demanding time, Christmas day was almost always bereft of any cases. He seemed to relax a little, but I knew he wanted me to ask him the same question. For once, I was genuinely curious about what he had planned. The small, illogical, part of my mind I keep quiet wanted him to say he hadn't planned anything yet. The larger, louder, more logical, part told me he did have plans, and he was looking for an in to tell me. So I provided it.

"Sarah invited me to spend Christmas with her family." He told me. That sentence was not what I wanted to hear. Christmas with her family means they're getting serious. I had noticed the not so subtle signs that they'd started sleeping together while I was away in Windmere. Since I'd been back, though, I've kept him away from Sarah quite successfully. Besides, while meeting the parents is a big step, it doesn't necessarily mean marriage. I have plenty of time to change their plans.

It's roughly two weeks until then, a case should come by and change his mind. Hopefully several cases, rapid fire, so there isn't any delay between for him to ask Sarah out for another date. I know a case will show up on Christmas Eve -there's always someone who needs my assistance- The question iss, will it be difficult enough to merit dragging John along and away from Sarah? Of course, even if the case is a small one I could make a big deal of it, and run around the city trying to get solid evidence.

Danger. If I say there's danger, there's no way he'll let me go alone.


	7. Dec18th: Ears and Practical Jokes

**A/N: **Short update is short. Like, really short. But I have the next chapter typed up and am working on the second part of it! And it's certainly longer than this... At least twice as long. Yep. So, anyway, hope you like it!

**Word Count:** 874

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><p><em>December 18th, 2011.<em>

_ I was thinking earlier, when I realized that there is no right or wrong way to write in a journal. Naturally the thought only lingered for a moment, but it was enough. Therefore, I will resume writing in the style of my earlier entries. _

Yesterday a case was brought to my attention, so I seized the opportunity to make John feel useful. It's difficult to explain why he is actually helpful, but I will try... A colleague who understands you and what conclusions you will draw is a dangerous man, but a man like John, (who is almost always surprised at the outcome) is an ideal helper. Why? One who knows what you will deduce may feel superior, and try to impose their own deductions on you. They might cause harm to one or both of you. If the helper hasn't got a clue as to what's about to happen, they will hold on to any information they have, and stick to it, out of fear of ruining whatever master plan might be in motion.

But I digress. The case itself was rather simple, moments from hearing it I knew there were only two possible conclusions. A practical joke (unlikely) or some sort of revenge gone awry. At first, John was under the impression it was a practical joke, but I asked him several questions which forced him to think. It took a few minutes, but he was able to deduce that it was not a practical joke. I felt proud of him then. Now, I will start from the beginning.

John was reading his newspaper as I was updating my website. It was till early, only about nine or so in the morning. Immediately after I'd sent some information to my corner of the internet, I noticed him throw his newspaper down. Without giving it another thought, I attempted to break in to his thoughts.

He sat with glazed eyes for 27 seconds before his eyes flashed over to some of the medical instruments I'd left loitering about. The expression on his face changed a little, and I knew he'd started thinking of the war. He snapped himself out of his reverie quickly, before looking over to the skull on the shelf. His eyes drifted to an empty spot (How did that happen?) on the mantle, where the skull usually was. He apparently wanted that spot to be inhabited by the skull again. Then he looked over at a framed picture of his company, then back at the empty spot.

For a moment he had a hurt expression on his face, no doubt several of his comrades had been lost, but it was replaced with a more thoughtful expression. He licked his lips before his eyes glazed over once more, his hand flexed on his thigh, as though it was in pain. Remembering the war itself, then. He scratched his shoulder briefly before bringing his hand to his mouth and shaking his head.

"It is a rather fruitless way to settle disputes, isn't it?" I asked.

"Exactly." Then, realizing what I said, he gave me a startled look. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

I felt the corner of my mouth tug in to a smirk. "You aren't very good at hiding your emotions, doctor." I left it at that and proceeded to fill him in about the case at hand. A woman had received a package in the mail, and, since it didn't have a return address on it, had called the police. They sent over an officer to open it, who was surprised when two ears were inside, sitting comfortably on several ice packs in a cooler.

"Some kind of practical joke, then?" John suggested. I answered that there wasn't any way to know until we had a good look at the ears ourselves. John looked at his phone before he decided being a few minutes late wouldn't hurt any.

I took one look at the box and knew it wasn't a practical joke. I pointed out a few things to John, but left it up to him to find out certain things. Of course I routed his attention in the right direction, but he was able to deduce certain things. I felt pride well up inside of me when he noticed that the ears belonged to two different people. Of course it was obvious, since they were both left ears. Even so.

The case went by quickly, as we eventually ascertained that it was not a practical joke, but a story of betrayal and lunacy. The man who'd sent the ears had killed the old woman's sister and her lover out of a jealous rage. Not knowing that the woman he intended to send it to no longer lived at that address, he sent it on its way. He gave his testimony to the police very easily once they had caught up to him, with my help obviously.

Still, a case is a case, and, though I wish it had been a longer and more difficult one, it will whet John's appetite and make him crave more. Enough is never enough for either of us.


	8. Dec22nd: Scarfs and Microchips

**A/N: **So, here is the first part to this. c: The second part will, most likely, not be here until after the Holidays. Sorry!

**Word Count: ** 1,716

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were created by the most fantastic Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. These two were dreamed up in modern day by the wondeful Steven Moffat. This little scenario was dreamed up by yours truly.

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><p>December 22nd, 2011.<p>

_Oh, it's fantastic! I have successfully worn John out for the night, and the case isn't over yet. I have most of my information, naturally, but the evidence is still necessary. Also, I've successfully sewn the thought of danger in his mind, without outright saying it and seeming out of character. Of course, the case has the potential to be rather dangerous, but the worst I've gotten were a few angry pawn brokers so far._

_I may be getting ahead of myself, so I'll start over. Several days ago a weapons manufacturer announced that a microchip had been stolen. This chip wasn't especially secret, or ground-breaking, but was important enough that the company was issuing a one-thousand pound reward for its return. Pending further investigation that the chip wasn't copied in any way. When the announcement was first made, I was certain this was going to be the case that John and I embarked on. I had no idea it would present itself to me in such an unexpected way._

I was standing in the kitchen, performing experiments on the human ears I'd garnered from my last case, when I heard some knocking on the door. Naturally, I was far too busy to answer it myself, so I just ignored it. John, already knowing my habits, had gotten up to answer the door. From the weight of the step, I knew it was either a man, or a larger woman. John asked what he was here for, and the man asked for us to find someone, as he'd heard we were good at that from some out-of-the-way family member or co-worker.

I put the ears in a plastic bag and then on top of the stove. The man sounded sure, yet he hadn't given us the name of the person we were to find. He must not know their name. Good, a bit of a challenge. Still, it didn't prove to be dangerous at a glance, so I had every intention of turning the man away. Upon seeing the scarf and small jewelry box he had in his hand, I changed my mind and decided it would probably be a good exercise anyway.

"Sherlock Holmes," I introduced myself, extending my hand. He, apparently, took it as my wanting a handshake when all I wanted was the scarf.

"Jason Dillan," he shook my hand fervently. It was sweaty and cold at the same time. When his attentions were drawn to John, I wiped the sweat on my shirt.

"So, who is it your trying to find, Mr. Dillan?" I asked, gesturing for him to sit in my usual chair. John was about to leave the room, which would leave him out of the case should it progress. "Don't be silly, John. I believe I will need my blogger for this case." I hadn't involved him in too many other missing persons cases, so he was understandably confused. Still, he took his customary seat and I sat on the couch, not yet reclining. Extending my hands, Jason got the hint (this time) to put the items in my hands, laying the scarf across both palms, and the box on top of it.

I set the box aside and went to work deducing what I could of the scarf. Jason began talking, "I'm not sure whose it is," said he, "but I found the box wrapped in the scarf on the street. Whoever lost it must be very sad." I muttered some agreement and ignored him in favor of the scarf. It was pink. I hoped John wouldn't comment on that.

"What's this remind you of?" John asked, chuckling to himself a little and doing that weird tongue-thing he does. I glanced at him for a moment before rolling my eyes and turning back to the scarf.

"A woman's scarf, if the color is an indication," it wasn't, but I had other reasons to believe my deduction was correct. "Also, the smell of vanilla and soap cling to it, along with other odour. Early twenties, she's either thrifty or has fallen on hard times, most likely hard times. She's pregnant and in her second trimester. First child, and she's expecting a girl." Their shocked looks amused me. "So much for the scarf, now on to the box." I examined the box itself, noting its wear and tear. "Oldish box," I saw the remnants of a sticker, "Most likely from a yard sale." I opened the box and was met with an engagement ring with a tiny diamond. "Has a fiancée." I examined the ring, which was a size six and had obvious signs of age. "Ring was bought from a pawn-broker and was possibly on its way to being re-sized." I flipped the box upside-down, to empty out any further debris.

In my hand now lay the missing microchip. "Gentlemen, we have a thief to catch." I held the chip delicately between my thumb and forefinger. Mr. Dillan looked absolutely stunned. John was mostly in awe of my deductions, but I could tell that he was beginning to be excited by this case. He was definitely happy he'd stayed.

"What do we do now, Mr. Holmes?" My client asked.

"We put up a listing online and see if anyone bites." I'd already taken out my phone and was composing the ad. "I'll post it to several different sites, and if we get any answers we'll have caught our fish." With any luck it would take considerably more than that. "Still, it's only a narrow chance we'll find her."

After Jason Dillan left, I turned to John. "The chase is on."

"The chase? I thought we were waiting for a reply?" John asked.

"We have two very good clues here, and it's always more fun to find the person ourselves." I was very careful to use words that implied I would not be doing this alone. John, thankfully, got the hint. He looked at his watch, saw it was still early in the day, and decided that he could spend time on the case. He had no idea about the amount of running around I'd have us do.

"Let's go then." He put on his jacket and a hat as I donned my coat and scarf.

The chase brought us to several angry pawn-brokers, none of which were too keen on helping us. Still, we were able to find the right shop. The owner said a man and woman came yesterday and were giddy about buying that ring.

"Was the woman wearing," I dug deep in to my jacket pocket and pulled out the scarf. "This scarf?" The man looked confused.

"No, I don't think she was. Hers was a greenish one, if I remember right." Was there another party in this whole affair? Then the man's face brightened a bit with recognition. It was gone quickly, so I had to act just as fast.

"I feel sorry for the man who had to pawn this ring...," I said. Mr. Owner looked at me, not comprehending what I was trying to do.

"You shouldn't, it was a woman who brought this in." I pretended to look skeptic.

"No, statistics have shown men are much more likely to pawn an engagement ring with a smaller diamond." I had no idea if this was true, it wasn't actually relevant information.

"Yes, well, people aren't statistics. They're people. And it was a woman who brought this in." He seemed hesitant. He wanted to prove me wrong, but it would mean giving away information about a client.

"I don't believe you." John looked at me like I was behaving childish. The man huffed before finally giving me what I needed.

"It was the woman who wore that scarf that pawned it!" He shouted. A few other people who had been wandering around looked over to him. He shied away and started whispering. "That's all that I'm telling you, now." I smiled before asking him if I could buy a jewelry box. He was stubborn and made me buy a cheap cubic zirconium ring along with the box. I paid him, thanked him for his time and called for John to follow me out of the shop.

"I'm relieved I'd decided to post separate adds for the box and scarf." I confided as we were headed back to the flat. I checked my phone and saw a message asking when the user could pick up her ring. I replied she could come by my address and pick it up in half an hour. "I had an idea that I might need another box after he told me that there were two different women involved."

We were back at Baker street in half an hour and, after ascertaining the woman's innocence in the whole matter, I handed her the original box, excluding the microchip. She left in a happy mood, declaring she was sure it had been stolen and lost forever. She tried to pay me, but I refused.

"We've got all the information we could get from the broker, but we still don't have her name." I checked my phone again. "And I haven't received any messages about the scarf, either."

"So what's next?" He asked, and I knew that walking to Fourteen different pawn shops had been a good way to tire him out.

"You," emphasis, "get some rest. I need to return to the shop after closing." His brows furrowed and I knew he wouldn't allow me to go alone.

"You must mean we." Emphasis on we. "Return to the shop after closing. If you're breaking the law, you aren't doing it alone." I smiled.

"As you'll probably call the yard on me if I don't include you, then fine. You can come." I paused for a moment. "You could be useful. In the meantime, you need some sleep. No, don't try to get me to sleep. You know how it is. Rest, we leave at midnight."

_So here I am now, awaiting midnight. According to my phone, it's only a few minutes away. I will write the results of our excursion at a later date. _


End file.
